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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29054085">Try Not To Be Scared</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/transcryptidone/pseuds/transcryptidone'>transcryptidone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Polar (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Childbirth, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Will Graham, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Pregnancy Kink, Recreational Drug Use, Secret pregnancy, Teen Pregnancy, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Will and Duncan are both 17, Young Duncan, Young Will Graham, they/them pronouns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:15:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29054085</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/transcryptidone/pseuds/transcryptidone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Duncan are just two loners attending high school together. They spend time together, fuck, and do their best to ignore everyone else – until something changes and their world becomes bigger than just the two of them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Duncan Vizla | Black Kaiser</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I thought I'd try something out for this fic. I've decided to use they/them pronouns for Will and do my best to never describe the specifics of Will's sex characteristics. I'm also going to imagine this in a world where it's no big deal if a person is genderfluid and/or uses they/them pronouns. This fic will not include <em>any </em> misgendering or anything of that sort. There will be plenty of angst, but, as a trans and non-binary person, I want to keep the kind of hurt I associate with transphobia/misgendering out of it. </p><p>Also, this fic is tagged underage because both Will and Duncan are under 18 and I wanted folks to be able to filter that out if they wished.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The toilet makes a whooshing noise as Will flushes it. The stall door creaks and Will’s boots fall heavily against the linoleum floor. Will approaches the sink with a bag on their hip that feels far heavier than it was this morning. When they’d gotten dressed, they thought that wearing their favorite shirt would offer some comfort for the day ahead. But now, the lace feels constricting and scratches against their flushed, sweat-damp skin.<br/>
<br/>
They splash water on their face once their hands are clean and as the water falls and drips back into the sink, there might be some tears that go too. They dry their face with a paper towel and wipe away any other evidence that their fellow students might dissect like specimen. They pull a red and black plaid shirt from their bag and slip their arms in the sleeves. There’s a lingering smell of smoke that clings to the collar. That smell of toxins and quite possible death has become their favorite, most comforting smell and Will doesn’t know what they’d do if that changed.<br/>
<br/>
Will isn’t thinking – they haven’t been thinking right for a while, <em>that’s the</em> <em>problem</em> – and their distraction has them colliding with someone as soon as they leave the bathroom. They duck their head as they pull the top layer of their shirt tighter around them and they cringe when they see their chunky, black boots beside another pair of boots with pointed toes, one blue, one red. Will knows what that means.<br/>
<br/>
“Sorry,” Will says right away. <em>Preemptive strike.</em><br/>
<br/>
“Hello, there,” Sindy says with her overly sweet voice and tone, and the others who are always near Sindy – always near <em>each other</em> – all laugh. “You should probably get the fuck out of here, sweetie.”<br/>
<br/>
“Just <em>talking</em> to us makes Will nervous,” Hilde observes. <em>Patronizing.</em> She always tips her head up just so she can turn up her nose and look down on anyone and everyone she wishes to.  <br/>
<br/>
Will’s not nervous. That’s the thing – at least not <em>really</em>. They accepted long ago that they <em>wouldn’t</em> be accepted by their peers and especially not the <em>A Team</em>. So, Will isn’t sure they can truly be <em>nervous</em> about something they never had any expectation of achieving. What Will <em>can</em> for sure say they feel is <em>wary</em> and if they’ve learned anything, it’s better just to say nothing at all.<br/>
<br/>
“Still not a word, hmm?” Hilde continues in her mockery. “Maybe next year we’ll get you talking.”<br/>
<br/>
<em>“Come on,”</em> Sindy groans as she curls her shoulders in and slumps over in a dramatic performance of impatience. “Let’s get out of here. I’m <em>hungry</em>.”<br/>
<br/>
Sindy stomps her feet as much as she can in those heels as she continues her way down the hallway and Will is left to just watch the group of them go like Will might watch a bullet they’d managed to dodge. When the five of them turn down another hallway, there is Duncan just at the corner. He’s dressed in all black – a stark contrast to the bright colors on the fliers that decorate corkboard. He also stands out from the duller gray of the walls. Will and Duncan look at each other, but neither of them does so much as nod or wave. When the bell rings, they go their separate ways.<br/>
<br/>
Will finds him later. He’s smoking under the bleachers like always. With how often he’s there, it would be easy to believe that Duncan never goes to class, but Will knows Duncan has never risked failing. Will knows every assignment is turned in as it should be and even if Duncan seems like the shadow at the back of the class, a shadow at least means he’s <em>there</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan hardly looks up at Will as they come closer, but he’s sure to have heard them. He knows the routine by now – or he knows Will knows it. Duncan holds up the cigarette, perched between two fingers, as an offering. Sometimes Will allows Duncan to bring it to their lips for them. Other times, like now, Will takes care of it themself. They take the lit cigarette from Duncan’s fingers and watch the smoke trail behind as they drop it to the ground. The little flame dies out under the toe of Will’s boot.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s complaint is only the quietest of grunts and a very slightly sharper look in his eyes. The change is so minimal that Duncan’s hair could have hidden it if his bangs fell a little further in front of his eyes. Even in the shade of the bleachers, he must be burning up underneath all of his black clothing – <em>Will sure is</em> – but as always, Duncan wouldn’t show it.<br/>
<br/>
Will stands next to him, leaning back against where two of the bleacher’s support beams cross each other – <em>X marks the spot</em>. “Is Vivian still having a party at your place tonight?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah,” Duncan states. When he looks down at Will, he’s looking down only because he’s taller. Duncan has hit his growth spurt and then some. His cheekbones stand out on a face that has ditched most of its baby fat and he already has the ability to grow quite a bit of stubble. “You still want to come over?”<br/>
<br/>
Will tries to not take too deep of a breath, but not too shallow either. They also try not to sigh too hard or too loudly when they say, “Yeah.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan hums and nods and Will can see out of the corner of their eye how his fingers twitch for the cigarette that’s stamped into the gravel. Will drops their hand down by his and brushes their fingers against the backs of Duncan’s. What Will sees out of the corner of their eye then is a smirk on Duncan’s face that matches Will’s own.<br/>
<br/>
Their little spot of peace is interrupted by the blare of many bells ringing at once. They can hear the clamor of students shouting and running and jumping for joy. <em>School’s out!</em> Their fellow students celebrate the arrival of summer and, with it, a few months of few cares beyond avoiding a sunburn.<br/>
<br/>
Will and Duncan watch from a distance. With Duncan dressed all in black and with his dark hair that has grown to hang down around his face and with Will dressed their own dark black jeans seemingly torn in about as many places as not, together they might seem like the overlapping shadows that are cast off just when their peers find themselves bathed in light. Will and Duncan linger until the only cars in the parking lot are their two. The engines rumble in the same sort of way when they turn out onto the road and drive off separately back towards what each of them could call home.<br/>
<br/>
Will’s dad isn’t home when they get there and he still hasn’t gotten back by the time they leave again. Their dad works longer hours at this job than he did at his last one, but at least the pay is good. Will hopes this job can also last longer than most of the ones that came before. Their dad hardly seems to have a job longer than a season and with the weather getting warmer and warmer, Will doesn’t want to come home to find out that they’ll be moving again. That’s at least something that makes it feel better for their dad to be away so much.<br/>
<br/>
Will had changed out of the lace when they were home and replaced it with a much more billowy black t-shirt. As they walk towards Duncan’s house, the summer air cools and breezes across their skin until the chill of their sweat makes them shiver. They dig their nails into the goosebumps that raise on their arms until they know there will be little crescent-shaped indents left behind.<br/>
<br/>
The party is already in full swing. Will made sure to wait until the time of night that’s suitable for a party full of underage drinking and its many consequences. Will is no stranger to that. They don’t always drink, but when they do, it’s usually whiskey – except for that one time when Duncan had <em>Mount Gay</em> rum so, of course, Will felt compelled to drink <em>a lot of it</em>. Will still remembers that night fondly even though the consequences might prove particularly <em>disastrous</em>. Will wishes their biggest problem could be something like breaking a vase that’s unreasonably expensive or even getting into a fight. Vases could be paid for somehow and bruises would heal sooner rather than later.<br/>
<br/>
Will doesn’t bother with the front door. There’s a group of their fellow no-longer-juniors clogging up the entrance, but it doesn’t matter. Will walks around to the side of the house like they have many times before. Duncan’s bedroom is on the ground floor, thankfully, and he leaves the window cracked open when he knows Will is coming.   <br/>
<br/>
Will presses the heels of his hands to push the window pane up enough to slip his fingers underneath and open it the rest of the way. They then brace their arms and lift themselves up far enough to climb in. Though repetition has etched the motion into their muscles and somewhere deep in the back of their mind, Will feels their body differently this time than they ever have before. Each shift seems more significant and any amount of effort has something extra to it. The lift of their knee as high as it will go seems all the more exaggerated and they’re careful not to knock into anything as they lean in through the window.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s gotten used to Will coming in this way too. He hardly reacts now when Will’s boots hit the floor and as long as Will locks the window again, Duncan doesn’t even usually feel the need to get up from his bed anymore. He’s got another cigarette letting off a trail of smoke as he brings it to his lips, then it disappears when Duncan breathes in and the red at the end glows brighter.<br/>
<br/>
Will sets their saddlebag on the floor, sits on the edge of the bed, and unlaces their boots enough to yank them off. They can hear the sound of beer sloshing in a bottle as Duncan takes a swig. When Will leans back against the headboard, Duncan offers them the drink with one hand and the smoke with the other. Will takes the bottle and sets it aside on the dresser by the bed, then takes the cigarette and puts it out in the dish on the table by Duncan’s side. Duncan has that questioning look in his eyes again and so Will allows their body to press further against his so that they can press one of many kisses to his lips.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan makes no complaint about that – never has. He threads his fingers into the curly hair that has grown just a little past Will’s shoulders. As he pulls their hair back away from their face and neck, Will’s sigh comes from deep within their ribcage. One tug from Duncan’s hand in Will’s hair can send a cascade of prickling, shivering pleasure down Will’s spine and they both know that. They both know that like they both know that a feather-light touch of Will’s fingers along Duncan’s side and up his chest can have him gasping too. To Duncan, what’s gentle is what’s most drastic. Tenderness would have to be the only way to get a rise out of him considering how pain doesn’t startle him one bit.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan pulls Will’s hair to guide them to lean back and lie flat against the mattress. They follow where Duncan’s hold leads them and they tip their neck up and back the way he likes. Duncan has learned just how much Will’s neck has been their weakness. A few kisses, a few hickeys, some presses of his teeth and he can be almost guaranteed to have Will exactly where he wants them. But Duncan is never one to play it safe or fall short. His other hand also slips its way underneath Will’s shirt – and with little resistance at that. Will has grown to expect the rub of a rough thumb at their nipple but that doesn’t change or lessen how it makes them feel.<br/>
<br/>
Will moans loudly and, despite the pounding cacophony of music shaking through the house, they still might hear the moan echo back into their ears. It’s a desperate sound that only stutters and fades out as it becomes a whimper when Duncan shifts to cover more and more of their body with his own. They spread their knees wider so that he can settle in between their thighs. They can feel the bulge of his cock as Duncan’s restraint falters and his hips grind down with an eagerness for friction and touch.  <br/>
<br/>
<em>“Duncan,”</em> Will gasps as their breath pants with how much they <em>want</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Will wants out of their restricting clothes. Duncan’s aren’t quite as tight, but they want him out of his too. Their hands grab at Duncan’s back and catch handfuls of his shirt in their grip. They drag the fabric up high enough to touch the skin at Duncan’s lower back just above the thick leather belt at his waistband.<br/>
<br/>
Just as Will is about to either make demands or <em>beg</em>, the dulled thrum of the noise and music downstairs gets suddenly much clearer and louder. Duncan’s door swings open fast enough and clumsy enough for the doorknob to hit harshly against the wall with a loud crash. Two very drunk partygoers seem to be too far gone to recognize their own ruckus and bad behavior. These interlopers only have enough attention to focus on stumbling and trying to catch themselves from falling face-first onto the floor.<br/>
<br/>
As quickly and suddenly as they arrive, Duncan pushes himself out of bed and grabs a shoulder in each of his strong, broad hands to shove the partygoers swiftly and surely out the door. The slam of the door closed is as loud as it had been when it was opened. Duncan then drags a large black and silver trunk in front of the door to block it. Will knows that trunk is heavy with all of Duncan’s most prized possessions, though Will can’t say they’ve really seen what’s inside it.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan crawls back onto the bed and back in between Will’s legs. All had been said and done before Will had even thought to shift their knees to close them. Will’s laughter comes almost out of nowhere – or at least that’s what it feels like – but, even so, Duncan joins in without so much as blinking first. The sight and sound of his laughter might never get old. Meanwhile, Will can feel the pointier edges of their teeth cutting into their lip as the laughter shakes at the rock that seems to sit in their chest where their heart would be.<br/>
<br/>
Will turns their head to the side as they ask, “What are we doing?”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan kisses Will’s neck again and hums a noise just as scratchy as his stubble against the sensitive skin. “Whatever you want.”<br/>
<br/>
Will grips their hand in the slightly oily hair at the back of Duncan’s head. “No, I mean—” Will starts and then they pause to lick their lips. They close their eyes and take a deep breath in to push down on the pressure that has been trying to crush the air in their chest. Their exhale isn’t as steady as they would like and their words wobble even more as they ask, “Are we just keeping each other from feeling lonely?”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s lips pause at Will’s throat. “Not <em>just</em>,” Duncan rasps as he pulls back. Will doesn’t have to open their eyes to know they’re being looked at and <em>observed</em>. “What’s this about?”<br/>
<br/>
Although Will would rather not, they open their eyes again. Although they’d rather not face Duncan’s scrutiny, if they want to feel like they really <em>know, </em>they’re going to need to <em>see</em> it. “Are we together?”<br/>
<br/>
“We could be,” Duncan replies by way of an answer. “Is that what you want?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah,” Will confesses and it does feel like a <em>confession</em> even though it’s not exactly the hardest thing they’ll have to say.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan hums. “Then that settles it.”<br/>
<br/>
Another laugh escapes from in between Will’s teeth and, though it’s just as sudden and startling as the round of laughter before it, this laugh also feels <em>frantic</em>. Duncan said what Will wanted to hear – what they <em>needed</em> to hear. But the possibility that everything might disappear just as soon as it’s been established might make the stakes feel even higher, even more of a <em>risk</em>. Will’s never done well with getting excited for things and has had a lot more experience with being disappointed.<br/>
<br/>
Will licks their lips again and tries to harness the confidence they might find in the alcohol they could taste on Duncan’s lips. “Now that we’re together, I guess I should tell you something,” Will forces themself to say. Their eyes flutter in an anxious blink as Duncan’s gaze so easily feels <em>overwhelming</em>. “Or, I would have told you either way, but now you should <em>definitely </em>know.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan furrows his brows and in a way Will knows is intended to offer some sort of comfort, simply says, “Will.”<br/>
<br/>
“Hold on,” they say as they push back against Duncan’s chest and, as soon as they have enough space, they roll over on the bed to grab their bag from the floor.<br/>
<br/>
Their fingers fumble to pop the snap that keeps it closed and without looking at what they are doing, they rummage their hand around the inside until they find what they’d hidden there. Will keeps the <em>damn thing</em> closed in their fist and still doesn’t look at it even as they press it into Duncan’s open hand.<br/>
<br/>
<em>“Will,”</em> he almost whispers and the rumbling sound of it makes Will flinch.<br/>
<br/>
They duck their head as they whisper back, “I know.”<br/>
<br/>
Even though the sounds from the party still render silence very much impossible, Will wouldn’t know how else to describe the absence of sound that comes when Duncan says nothing more.<br/>
<br/>
Will presses their hand open wide and flat against the comforter underneath them. This has become familiar to Will over the course of many visits and encounters. This comforter has laid underneath them as Will and Duncan lounged together, bunched up as their bodies pressed together and collided, and then extended out again to cover them while they slept. As Will takes a deep breath, they feel how soft it has become with many washings. As they breathe out, they curl their fingers and grab a lump of it in their fist.<br/>
<br/>
“What are you thinking?” Will asks, finally breaking their pseudo-silence.<br/>
<br/>
“What do you want to do?”<br/>
<br/>
When Will looks back up at Duncan, he’s as unreadable as he’s ever been and there’s a stab of worry that pierces through their chest. “I need to know what you’re thinking first.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s fist closes around what Will gave him, but not in an angry sort of way – as far as Will can tell. “I’m not going to think anything until I know what you want.”<br/>
<br/>
That’s the big question, isn’t it? That’s the question Will has been considering since their lunch break was spent less on lunch and more on staring down at the two lines on a <em>stupid piece of plastic. </em>What do they want? They want this not to be happening. Not like they want to get rid of it, but like they want to not have to make a decision at all.<br/>
<br/>
They want to go back to when they drank too much Mount Gay rum and when they felt drunk and giddy and <em>gay</em> and drowned themself in how good it felt to be <em>so gay</em> and <em>with Duncan</em>. Will wouldn’t have changed any of those parts. What Will wishes they could do would be to find a way to change that the condom broke and how neither of them noticed until the next morning.  <br/>
<br/>
But since they can’t change any of those things, they <em>do</em> have to make a decision. Will spent all afternoon and evening coming to the same conclusion and then starting over again.<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t want to get rid of it,” Will admits. “But I don’t think I can keep it.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan leans over to set aside the damning dollar store test – cheap to buy, but the results couldn’t be more costly. Duncan’s hand on Will’s shoulder is hesitant like he doesn’t know if he has permission. Will rests their hand on top of his to reassure him. They let their hand fall away again as Duncan shifts to press his palm against their cheek, which burns under his touch.  <br/>
<br/>
“You can keep it,” Duncan declares solemnly.<br/>
<br/>
“Duncan,” Will sighs and feels themself deflate with their exhale.<br/>
<br/>
“You can,” Duncan says with more deep sincerity. “I know it.”<br/>
<br/>
“How?” Will asks with a laugh that could easily turn into a sob. In all their thinking and <em>thinking</em>, the <em>how</em> has been what they can’t seem to figure out.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan hums as he brushes his thumb across the soft roundness that has lingered at Will’s cheek. “I just know.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan tips Will’s face up and brings their lips together. It’s much less desperate or hungry than before. Will would never have described either of them as <em>carefree</em>, but they realize there must have been some shred of <em>carefreeness</em> in them because they can feel how it has been lost now.<br/>
<br/>
They press further into Duncan’s kiss and try to feel his words as clearly as they feel his lips. Will smells the cigarette smoke that they have come to associate with comfort and feel the touch of hands that they associate with strength and care. In this, they try to find the strength and care that might help them to believe what Duncan says could be <em>true</em>.<br/>
<br/>
“I promise,” Duncan whispers in reassurance just as Will might falter.<br/>
<br/>
Will wants <em>so badly</em> to believe he’s right.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The river rushes and trickles. There are a few splashes that could be fish, carefree when Will is without a fishing rod in their hand. And though Will might have enjoyed casting their hook and getting the satisfaction of a good catch, they didn’t bring Duncan to the river today with the intention of just going fishing.<br/>
<br/>
Light filters in through the leaves, which are still green and plentiful with the last days of summer. Soon they’ll start to wither and fall with the start of autumn. The sunlight is strong enough to give a glow against Will’s eyelids as they close them. The sun still burns hot enough for Will to be grateful that they’re deep enough in the forest that they could risk taking their jacket off.<br/>
<br/>
Will’s never cared much for summer, but this one seems extra hellish with the increasing need for <em>layers</em>. They could get away with flowy shirts and dresses for a while, but it seems that it’s just when the weather is at its hottest that Will’s gotten big enough to need something bulkier to create a shape that distracts from the increasing curve of their belly.<br/>
<br/>
“I wish I didn’t have to act ashamed,” Will says, keeping their eyes closed and settling deeper into the grass they’re lying on top of. “I wish it wasn’t still possible for me to get my hopes up and be disappointed.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan hums and Will imagines they can feel how the rumble shakes the ground underneath them. Duncan doesn’t have to say it for Will to know that means: <em>I wish it too</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Will slides their hand between the blue jean of their overalls and the white cotton of their t-shirt to touch along the curve of their belly. At nearly halfway through, it’s <em>just</em> tipping over into <em>too round</em>. As they lie there in the grass with their eyes closed, they feel over the curve of it like they do in bed at night. Will sometimes feels like their belly and the baby within it never get to see sunlight.<br/>
<br/>
“This baby can’t possibly have parents this jaded,” Will remarks as they open their eyes and stare up at the blanket of interlocking leaves above them. “Aren’t parents supposed to preserve their child’s hope?”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s hum that time is shorter and sharper – <em>hm</em>. The breath he pulls in is just as stilted and it seems caught in his chest as he says, “I wouldn’t know.”<br/>
<br/>
Will sighs on both their behalf. They feel how the air rushes out and deflates them. “I guess I wouldn’t either.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s silent for a good long while. For the first half of that long while, Will is content to lie with him in the feeling of <em>there’s nothing good to say to that.</em> Eventually though, Will can no longer overlook how the silence is <em>lasting</em> and that’s when they turn their head to look at him. Duncan looks the opposite of comfortable. He looks like the ground is covered in rocks and he’s not wearing sunglasses. He looks like he sleeps with a frown on his face.<br/>
<br/>
“Come here,” Will says and when Duncan doesn’t move a muscle, they pull their hand away from their belly to reach over and give him a nudge. “Duncan, come here.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan blinks his eyes open again and turns to look at them. He nods his head once before scooching himself over to align right along Will’s side. Duncan hasn’t smoked around Will since he found out about their <em>predicament</em>. He puts his cigarette out as soon as he sees Will coming. But, even with all of Duncan’s precautions, Will can still smell how the smoke clings to him.<br/>
<br/>
Will unbuckles the two buckle loops by their shoulders. Once those are free, they push down the front of their overalls and pull up on the shirt underneath, pushing aside layers so the baby can know a bit of sun even if just for a little while before they have to cover up again.<br/>
<br/>
For the first few weeks after the existence of their baby became known to him, Duncan seemed to either not think to touch Will’s belly or too hesitant to actually do it. It had been perhaps too abstract when Will still wasn’t really showing and then when their belly truly started to curve, Duncan might not have been sure what would be allowed. The freedom they’d previously had with each other’s bodies seemed reverently altered. But after Will has guided his hands enough times, Duncan’s finally gotten the message.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s hand can no longer seem to hold all of Will’s belly within his grasp, but he still gives it his best try. As he slides his hand across the bottom of the curve, Will’s shiver couldn’t possibly come from any chill in the air.    <br/>
<br/>
“I want to imagine something nice for once,” Will says as they rest their hand on top of Duncan’s. “I want to imagine what it would be like to feel hopeful and not be ashamed of it.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s eyes slide closed and he shifts to rest his cheek against Will’s shoulder. Will closes their eyes too and tries to not feel too strange about it. In many ways, this is the opposite of what is usual. Far more often than they would like, Will has found themself at school thinking of the stream. Far too often, they’ve tried to convince themself to imagine the stream in order to distract from anything else. Now, here by the side of that very stream, Will instead tries to imagine the first day of school.  <br/>
<br/>
It’s easy to imagine the first day of school might feel the same as today in temperature and sunshine. The clamor of students would be much louder. With sneakers squeaking on the newly waxed floors and locker doors slamming as another year’s worth of books is put away, there would be no chance to hear anything so slight as the rush of water. Will can envision it all with the clarity of prior experience, but when they try to imagine themself…<br/>
<br/>
“If I was hopeful, I could wear whatever I wanted,” Will muses. They laugh and crane their neck a bit so that they can rest their cheek against Duncan’s hair. “Maybe I’d wear this since I know how you like it.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan chuckles because they both know that’s true. Will’s never asked why Duncan likes this particular getup so much and Duncan might not even know what to say if they did. Will doesn’t blame him. They wouldn’t know what to say either because they too just know that they like it.<br/>
<br/>
When Duncan’s hand shifts ever so slightly – barely more than a twitch of his fingers – Will pulls back their hand to let Duncan's roam free. The slight callouses drag a bit against skin that’s sensitive from how it stretches.<br/>
<br/>
“Would it be too hopeful to hope I could touch you this way?” he asks.<br/>
<br/>
Will smiles as the touch that started off innocently curious starts to take a turn. Duncan shifts his legs a certain sort of way when he’s starting to feel randy. He says Will does something similar in how their breath stutters when desire hits <em>just right</em>.<br/>
<br/>
“<em>That</em> might be a stretch,” Will teases and their smile becomes a smirk. “A touch here or there when I’m at my locker or on the way to class might be reasonable. Only as many times as people would believe you were just feeling for the baby kicking.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan hums and shifts again to nose at Will’s neck until they tip their chin up like he wants.  <br/>
<br/>
Since Duncan confessed too high of a hope, Will does too: “It’s too much to hope no one would notice.”<br/>
<br/>
“They could just keep on not caring,” Duncan rasps against Will’s throat.<br/>
<br/>
Will hums as they cup their hand around the back of his hair. They intertwine fingers in between the strands as they consider, “How do we take what we can from what we’ve got.”<br/>
<br/>
“You can have my sweatshirts,” Duncan offers as he pushes more of Will’s clothes away to expose more of their skin. He parts the fabric and pushes it aside until their shirt bunches high up on their chest and their overalls are as low as they can be on their hips.<br/>
<br/>
Will closes their eyes as the air in their lungs comes out in a stilted series of panting breaths. The image in their imagination shifts to one of themself in one of Duncan’s sweatshirts that’s already baggy on <em>Duncan</em>. He’s not wearing one today, which says something if even <em>Duncan</em> feels the heat. But Will’s seen and felt Duncan’s vast collection of mostly-black sweatshirts before. They know those sweatshirts are currently large enough to seem almost like a dress on them, but might feel less so over time.<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll feel like I’m <em>yours</em>,” Will sighs as Duncan kisses at their neck.<br/>
<br/>
“You are.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s hand pulls against Will’s hip at one side as the bulge of the cock trapped in his pants rubs against their thigh on the other side. Will whimpers with how they both want to turn their neck enough to kiss him and wouldn’t dare to direct his lips anywhere other than exactly where they are right now.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s fingers then tease at the elastic of Will’s underwear, tucking just underneath the edge. “If we’re already hidden, I might as well still touch you like this.”<br/>
<br/>
Will gasps as they arch their back into his touch and encourage the tips of fingers down further. “I suppose that’s true.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan catches the skin of Will’s neck between his teeth. He doesn’t bite down hard enough to leave a mark, but it’s enough to remind them that he <em>could</em>. Duncan has left behind a purpling bruise from time-to-time. He hasn’t recently so as to spare Will from <em>also</em> having to wear something with a <em>high neck</em>. They need to at least be able to spare them <em>one</em> sort of extra layer.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s nicest when it’s just the two of us,” Duncan rasps, his throat perhaps crying out for a cigarette he hasn’t been able to smoke for at least the past hour.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, it is,” they agree easily, but not without a sigh.<br/>
<br/>
Will smiles as their baby starts to twist and shift under their skin. It’s a feeling Will still hasn’t gotten used to. It’s still a fairly new development and lacks enough of a pattern to become expected. Will sometimes finds themself freezing in whatever they’re doing for fear that the little movements might get scared off. Even though they know it’s something they might come to wish would <em>just calm down already</em>, for now it still feels like it may never happen <em>enough</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Will directs Duncan’s hand back to the place on their belly where little fists or feet learn what it’s like to move. Duncan’s hand settles right above even though Will still isn’t sure if their baby is strong enough yet for him to feel. Will then touches their hand to Duncan’s cheek, brushing their thumb against the grain of his stubble.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m not ashamed of our baby,” Will says.<br/>
<br/>
“Neither am I.”<br/>
<br/>
Will looks back up towards the canopy punctuated with sunlight. As their heart pounds in their chest, they can’t say for sure exactly why. But it’s both heartening and disheartening. They take a deep breath and hold it so that they might focus in on the space within their ribcage and force their heart towards something calmer.<br/>
<br/>
“I won’t let them make me feel ashamed of our baby,” Will promises both of them – the <em>three</em> of them.<br/>
<br/>
“Me neither,” Duncan promises too.<br/>
<br/>
Will scratches their nails against Duncan’s scalp as they consider. They try to enjoy the feeling of sunshine on their face instead of wondering how long it will take for it to burn. “I guess if I’m being hopeful for their sake, that might make it worth it to feel disappointed sometimes,” Will offers. “At least then the pain <em>means</em> something.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan hums and Will might feel the rumble of it through their veins. His voice holds that power even as his whisper is <em>so quiet</em>. “That might make it feel better that I’m hopeful for you.”<br/>
<br/>
The surge of sensation Will feels isn’t desire exactly and doesn’t have breath stuttering from their chest. It grips at their heart in a sensation that <em>hurts</em>, but they know it’s because of something so <em>painfully good</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Will presses a kiss to Duncan’s hair, dry but still smelling like his shampoo. “You really are just a sweetheart, aren’t you?”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan gives a singular, gruff laugh at that. “You’d be the only one to think so.”<br/>
<br/>
Will presses another kiss more firmly and with extra determination as they declare, “Well then everyone else must simply be <em>tasteless.”</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>People who read Let Slip! too might notice that I will forever want Will to call Duncan "sweetheart." What can I say? That nurse calling Duncan "sweetie" in his first scene in the movie really just set the tone for me. </p><p>Also, thank you to everyone who has read this fic and commented! It warms my heart.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will’s hands rub against the grit of chalk dust on the blackboard in front of them. The trail their fingers left behind might be as damning as what’s sure to be a white line of chalk across the front of their black sweatshirt – <em>Duncan’s sweatshirt</em>. Duncan himself is plastered against Will’s back, pressing their bodies together with near reckless abandon.<br/>
<br/>
If anyone were to enter the room, they would know that Will and Duncan were doing something they shouldn’t be. Unwelcome eyes might be able to see how there are hands slipped underneath clothes to touch at bare skin. But they wouldn’t be able to see how Duncan’s hand under their sweatshirt holds at Will’s belly. They might just assume his hand was down their pants. To be fair, maybe it will be.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s hands grasp like a man possessed – determined, demanding. If anyone were to see them, they’d think Duncan had been the one to drag them in here. They might think something had managed to take over Duncan so nearly completely that even his usual steadfastness might falter. Will can admit that they like the idea of being able to accomplish that. In truth, it had been Will’s hands grasping and pulling Duncan into the dark of the abandoned “art” room. A chalkboard and some easels would hardly seem to suffice. If only the two of them had a true darkroom to disappear into instead…<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s hand risks rising a bit higher, creeping the hem of his sweatshirt farther and farther up until it threatens to expose skin to open air – from there skin could become exposed to plain sight.<br/>
<br/>
<em>“Duncan,”</em> Will sighs in warning. They squeeze their eyes closed with how they wished they didn’t have anything to warn him about.  <br/>
<br/>
Duncan groans into Will’s hair. He doesn’t lower his hand – but he doesn’t raise it any higher either. “You’ll be the death of me,” he grumbles, but only holds Will closer.<br/>
<br/>
Will grits their teeth at the recognition that Duncan is becoming more and more central to their <em>life</em> – maybe he’s already as central as he can be. Will’s never done well when they tried to rely on anyone’s presence with any sense of <em>consistency</em>. Peers came and went sometimes even before they had a chance to becomes friends. Their dad was away as often as he was home – if not more.<br/>
<br/>
The breath in Will’s chest becomes less <em>pleasured</em> and more <em>panicked</em>. They try to remember that as parents-to-be Will and Duncan are <em>supposed to be</em> close. But all the imagined hope in the world won’t make reality any different. Try as they might, what they see behind closed eyes looks more and more like <em>disaster</em>. If this risk somehow turned out to be the wrong one...<br/>
<br/>
Will’s whine is drowned out by the ring of the bell. Tears build behind their eyes but don’t yet escape. Duncan’s hands drag with his reluctance as he pulls away and Will either shivers or trembles – they can’t be sure which.<br/>
<br/>
They take the fabric of their sweatshirt in both hands. Just as they’d known there would be, there’s a line dashed across the black fabric to bracket the swell of their belly. They fold it over to rub the chalky part against a cleaner one, knowing from experience that this will get rid of the mark much faster. That evidence hardly feels like anything in comparison to what could be, but any evidence also feels like too much of a risk. Will’s had eyes on him before – and <em>unkind ones</em> at that. That’s been something consistent; they’re no <em>stranger</em> to it now. As much as they might wish they could be at peace with it, those eyes still manage to scratch and scrape in a way that only makes them itch <em>more</em> and <em>it’s barely past lunchtime</em>.<br/>
<br/>
Once the telltale chalk has been erased, Will reaches up to rub under their nose, hiding a sniffle in dust and the brush of their hand. Their nails scratch down across their lips to keep them from some sort of damning grimace. Though their lips may be barely restrained, Duncan’s start to twitch in a way that shows he’s deciding to say something.<br/>
<br/>
Will shakes their head as they say, “Not now.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan hardly needs encouragement to keep quiet. That’s his status quo. He nods but Will flinches with the splash that echoes at the bottom of the well where Duncan’s feelings usually are kept at barely a ripple. As a tear drips and falls to soak into Duncan’s sweatshirt, Will could swear they hear another splash way down deep.<br/>
<br/>
The clamor of voices in the hallway reminds them both of the time and place just outside the door. Will has Biology class to get to and Duncan has Spanish, though Duncan hardly needs the instruction. Will doesn’t know how he picks up languages so quickly that it might seem like he always spoke them. He’s acing French too. Meanwhile, Will doesn’t know if their current predicament makes Will an <em>expert</em> in the ins and outs of basic biology or a demonstration of a fundamental inability to apply what they <em>should</em> know.<br/>
<br/>
“You coming over after school still?” Duncan asks them. He starts to fold his arms over his chest, then catches himself and drops them down to hang in a performance of neutrality.<br/>
<br/>
Will’s smile is half-hearted, but it’s there. “Yeah,” they assure as they cup Duncan’s cheek and brush their thumb over the shadows that come with the bags under Duncan’s eyes, bags that are slowly but surely growing heavier than they had been already.<br/>
<br/>
Will slips out the door first. Duncan will linger and wait for the necessary amount of time to pass for people to have lost any reason to notice a pattern worth commenting on. As Will walks out the door, they’re thrown back into a harsher reality. The lights are brighter and leave no shadows to hide in. The floors are a white linoleum streaked with scuff marks from reluctant shoes shuffling to class.<br/>
<br/>
In some ways, it’s easy for Will to lose themself in the crowd. They can pretend they are just one of many, made anonymous by there being so many others around, one cog in one inefficient machine. They go through the motions. Will ducks their heads and curls in their shoulders as they dip out of the stream of students to stop in front of their locker.<br/>
<br/>
It’s a bottom locker, unfortunately. As if it weren’t enough to have to hide their belly, they also have to find new ways to crouch to the floor and still be able to get up again with any sort of grace. They have to force themselves to remember to not touch their belly as they bend their knees and lower themself down. They have to try to keep the hand that drags down the metal of the lockers as casual as it can be. They hope to make it seem more <em>absent-minded</em> than <em>desperately needed</em>.<br/>
<br/>
The lock is simple by comparison and they have their locker door popped open in no time. They stack a heavy textbook and notebook on the floor by their feet. That’s going to make it even more difficult to get back up again.<br/>
<br/>
“New year, new you, Will?” Hilde’s voice taunts from above.<br/>
<br/>
Will closes their eyes and tries not to sigh. They pretend to need another notebook too so that they can delay having to stand up again. In the early hours of the very first day of school for the year, Will realized that their locker was unfortunately nearby the suit of lockers devoted to the A team. It certainly set a tone for how this year would embody <em>avoidance</em>. Will paid attention to when the A team would linger and when they would be busy elsewhere doing who-knows-what. Will made the mistake of lingering too long with Duncan and they’re paying for it by overlapping with the A team’s routine.<br/>
<br/>
Will stays quiet, wishing they could disappear like a whisper into the crowd again. Duncan’s sweatshirt hangs between the v-shape formed by Will’s spread knees. The fabric curls ever so slightly around the curve that sits there deep in their pelvis and underneath, hanging so perilously, is their belly protruding to nearly touching their thighs. The slightest shift of open air seems damning.<br/>
<br/>
“No,” Sindy says petulantly, seeming like she just might stamp her heels against the ground and Will can almost <em>hear</em> her pout. It’s as if Will is withholding one of her many early Christmas presents when she complains, “Still the same old one.”<br/>
<br/>
Hilde scoffs. “We’ll get something out of you before we leave here,” she says like it’s a promise. “New school year resolution.”<br/>
<br/>
Will supposes the good thing about that is that there’s <em>no rush</em>. It means the A team will leave them alone if only just for now. But for now is fine for the moment. It lets Will take a breath before they have to get themself upright again. However, even without the A team to watch them closely, Will still feels a heightened need to know exactly where their hands are and that they’re not falling anywhere suspicious. They have to keep their fingers from moving by habit towards the place they so often find themself touching with a sort of surreal awe.<br/>
<br/>
The tension manifests in an ache in their muscles. Throughout their last classes of the day, they clench their hands in fists. They grip until the skin feels tight and their nails dig in sharply and only then do they release them again. They do this over and over but still the tension won’t work itself through. They <em>still </em>haven’t accomplished relief by the time they return to their truck at the end of the day. They still can’t risk it until they’re far enough away to get some distance from prying eyes. As they cruise down a familiar, winding road, they’re afforded enough comfort and safety to drop a hand from the steering wheel to press against their belly. There’s that <em>surreal awe</em> again, coming for them and chasing after them like déjà vu or nostalgia.<br/>
<br/>
Will parks a little way down the road even though there are no other cars clogging the spaces nearer Duncan’s house and there’s no concern for blocking anyone into the driveway. Duncan doesn’t have to volunteer the information for Will to know that Vivian won’t be home anytime soon. She doesn’t seem to be around all that often. She stops by for a party or a scolding and then takes off again before she can risk a headache. Will knows this not because Duncan’s said anything, but based on what he <em>hasn’t</em>. Will has hardly heard about Vivian and Will has seen even less of her. Will knows it’s that way because Duncan prefers it. He won’t say why.<br/>
<br/>
For the moment, Will doesn’t care about any of that. They can’t climb in Duncan’s window anymore, couldn’t even if Duncan tried to boost them or give them a hand. They have to walk through the front door and without even the cover of night. They climb the front steps like anyone might normally do. The wood doesn’t creak under their feet and the handrail doesn’t threaten their palm with splinters. And yet, it seems wrong.  <br/>
<br/>
They’re escorted back after Duncan opens the front door in some sort of maze in reverse - down the hallways in directions Will usually only sees the other way around. Even after Duncan’s bedroom door clicks shut, they might still see the room from a slightly different angle than they ever have before.  <br/>
<br/>
It’s not as if Will hasn’t looked around Duncan’s room before. They’ve tried many times to glean secrets from what Duncan <em>does</em> leave out for them to see. The colors are dark – no surprise there – and there’s nothing particularly remarkable about the décor. It’s sort of a mess like any teenager’s room might be. There are some boxes sitting out and open, still not fully unpacked and settled in. There are textbooks, some half open and some seemingly neglected.  <br/>
<br/>
The room smells a bit more like weed and a little less like cigarettes than it might usually. Will wishes they could smoke too — weed or cigarettes, they wouldn’t be picky. They wish they could let off some smoke like letting off some steam. As they settle onto the bed and lean back against the pillow, it smells ever so slightly like weed too. Will can see little black spots from where a tiny bit of ash fell. They pick at the ash marks with their nails and rub the smudges away with the tips of their fingers until the dark spots have nearly disappeared.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan sits on the bed next to where Will’s knees are bent and pointing towards the ceiling. He takes hold of one of their hands when there are no more spots to nitpick. His hands are rougher, nails cut short and blunt where Will’s are a little longer and have a little of a sharper shape to them. Will curves their fingers to dig their nails into the solid strength of Duncan’s hand instead of the soft fluff of his pillow.<br/>
<br/>
“Will,” Duncan prompts.<br/>
<br/>
This time, when Will looks around the room, they see everything that <em>isn’t there</em>. They close their eyes and the furrow of their brow matches the way they squeeze tighter at Duncan’s hand. The tears that betrayed Will earlier come back again no matter how tightly they close their eyes. Still, it’s easier if they keep them closed.  <br/>
<br/>
“I’m not going to just be able to show up to the trailer <em>with a baby,</em>” Will expresses. Even if their dad did the impossible and accepted the presence of a <em>baby</em>, there’s as little space for a crib there as there is in Duncan’s room. “Even if we hide it the whole time, <em>then what?”</em><br/>
<br/>
The hand that's not gripped in Will’s brushes a thumb gently under Will’s eye. “It’s always been better just the two of us,” Duncan says. “Remember?”<br/>
<br/>
“You’re getting my hopes up,” Will cries out as another tear falls to wet their cheek. Their breath catches in their chest and it only seems to feed the frenzy that they try <em>so hard</em> to temper. Their chest <em>aches</em> through their lungs and down to their heart. Their words are jumbled with how their lungs refuse to <em>give</em> enough to let them catch their breath. “You’re getting my hopes up when this might be the kind of disappointment I’ll never recover from.”<br/>
<br/>
“Will,” Duncan says, kneeling in between Will’s legs and pressing their thighs further apart with his knees. “Look at me.”<br/>
<br/>
Will opens their eyes but does it slowly. They look past the hint of a curve in the bunch of the sweatshirt’s fabric and beyond the peaks of their knees. Situated beyond those peaks and the rolling hill is Duncan like the most solid mountain of all, dressed in another of his dark sweatshirts that Will might decide to take with them when they leave. Will watches as Duncan’s hands grip surely but gently at Will’s hips, urging them away from the pillows and headboard and up into his arms. Will lets themself be pulled and Duncan’s hands drag up their back as they come closer.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan presses his forehead lightly against theirs and Will can feel how their brows both wrinkle, almost matching. Duncan’s voice is just above a whisper as he asks, “If I told you I’d take care of you, would you believe me?”<br/>
<br/>
Will lets their sigh out through their nose. Their heart still pounds in their chest, leaving them feeling offbeat and wobbly, but even if Duncan’s frowning, his hands are still strong. There’s still power in his shoulders even as they slump.  <br/>
<br/>
“Maybe it’s against all logic,” Will muses with a scoffing laugh at themself, still a little watery on the tail end. “But I <em>want</em> to say yes.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan huffs a laugh that could double as a hum. It lacks joy but retains its sarcastic sense of humor. “Then say yes.”<br/>
<br/>
Will cups their hands around the back of Duncan’s neck, intertwining their fingers with the hair at his nape. Will presses their foreheads together a little <em>harder</em>. Will has long found it reassuring that Duncan’s being is a quiet one. It has been soothing that what they receive from him is <em>nothing</em> like a clamor. But if there’s any time they wish Duncan would be louder – or even <em>chatty</em> – that time would be now.<br/>
<br/>
“You have to <em>convince me,</em>” Will urges.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan stays as solid as bedrock as he states, “I don’t say things lightly.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, I know,” Will agrees because there’s no doubting that’s true.<br/>
<br/>
“I agree to what I know I can get done,” Duncan continues. “Nothing more.”<br/>
<br/>
Will hums. “I know that too.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan shifts their faces until he can press his cheek to Will’s temple, which has Will tucking their face into his neck. “I don’t expect you not to have doubts,” Duncan says as he welcomes Will further into the cradle of his body. “But of those things, you can be certain.”<br/>
<br/>
“When will I get to know about your great masterplan?” Will questions as they press their nose against Duncan’s throat. There they can smell what lies underneath all the smoke. It’s a deep, rich, mellow scent. “Will you tell me that at least?”<br/>
<br/>
“I want to tell you now,” Duncan rasps. “I just haven’t been able to decide on the words yet.”<br/>
<br/>
“The longer you wait, the harder it might be,” Will says with a sigh as they lean back to look again at Duncan’s face. They want so much for what they say to land true. “Wait for the perfect way to say it and it might never get said.”<br/>
<br/>
Will feels as the truth of it falls heavily. They feel it as they can feel how the <em>pressure</em> acts as a stopper in Duncan’s throat. He doesn’t do something so obvious like stammer or choke on his words. The bags under his eyes might seem to just get deeper and darker in front of Will’s very eyes.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s okay,” Will soothes when the silence that usually accompanies them kindly instead feels too cruel. Like Duncan had brushed away Will’s tears, Will now touches a thumb lightly to the line carving itself under Duncan’s eye. If only they could brush away the shadow as easily as they’d brushed away ash. “I’ll wait. You just have to <em>promise me</em>.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan nods. The rumble of his hum must break a chunk off of what blocks his throat. “I promised then. I promise now,” Duncan declares. “I’ll promise tomorrow too.”<br/>
<br/>
Will loops their arms on top of Duncan’s shoulders and around his neck. They scooch closer with a clumsy lift of their hips and shift of their ass until their belly can press against Duncan’s – tight, round curve against a comparatively softer cushion. Their baby shifts with enough strength for them both to feel it as Will whispers against Duncan’s lips, <em>“Deal.”</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If anyone is interested in more high school AU content, I started a Le Joe fic and you can find it <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29192217/chapters/71673996">here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s a couch that’s shown up underneath the bleachers and no one seems to notice or mind. It has a plastic tarp to cover it when it rains, but it still smells slightly musty. It might make Will worry for the baby if it didn’t feel like every breath they took came from Duncan’s lungs wherein anything nefarious would get filtered out and trapped with all the nicotine. There’s the smell of rain still in the air, as well as the mud covering most of what would be the football field – too rain-soaked for gym class. Mr. Crawford sent them all into the gymnasium, probably to do a round of dodgeball. For obvious reasons, Will won’t be joining in. <br/><br/>It leaves a nice quiet. Every so often a breeze might blow through, but no yells or shouts. The only noises made by anyone around are the sounds of hushed sighs and pleasured hums. Will gasps as Duncan slides his hand further up on their thigh. His fingers dip under the edge of one of their skirt’s pleats. Will laughs with their next kiss. There’s something special about making Duncan get handsy. Will might say they<em> love</em> being able to do that to him. They <em>haven’t</em> said it, but they <em>might</em>…<br/><br/>Duncan’s hand goes up just a bit further, pulling the pleated fabric up when it catches and bunches around his wrist. Being with Duncan like this – whether on this couch or at Duncan’s house – has seemed more and more like the only <em>simple</em>, <em>easy</em> thing. Everything else creates a whirlwind in Will’s head – <em>school? dad? money? </em>– and the only thing that might offer any sort of quiet is <em>Duncan</em>. He <em>is</em> the quiet and the serenity found in it, even when his hands are rough and his mouth tastes like smoke.  <br/><br/>Duncan’s body holds Will as if they were wrapped in a weighted blanket. He presses down on all of the nerves that make Will’s skin feel either too small or too far removed – as if shriveling within themself. He holds them close with an arm resting under their head and looped down around their back. When they shiver it’s not from anything like <em>cold</em>. <br/><br/>The next breeze cascades over whatever it can and sends goosebumps along the bottom curve of Will’s belly and the backs of their thighs <em>just below</em> their ass. The sweatshirt Will wears drags up a bit further and so does their skirt as Duncan’s fingers touch between their legs. Will moans into Duncan’s mouth and he welcomes it, continuing to touch and rub with his fingers just the way Will likes. <br/><br/>“<em>Well, well, well</em>,” Hilde’s voice calls out, her voice fracturing their calm near-silence. “What do we have here?”<br/><br/>Will’s heart might have turned to stone. It sinks in their chest while the rest of them comes alight with <em>panic</em>. Their hand jolts to yank their sweatshirt down while Duncan’s hand moves as quick as it ever has to pull down on their skirt. It hardly matters. <br/><br/>Hilde watches them, laughing with no humor and only malice. Will keeps their head ducked but she must be smiling wide and indulgent when she sees how the couch’s overly soft cushions offer no assistance as Will tries to push themself upright. They clench their jaw as Duncan silently lends his strength and Will can do nothing but accept. When Will feels Hilde’s gaze settle on their middle, they think they may never be covered up enough ever again. <br/><br/>“I was expecting to find the two of you,” she says, taunting and goading as she crosses her arms on her chest. “But <em>this</em> is certainly a big surprise, isn’t it?” <br/><br/>“Why are you here?” Duncan asks her. His voice might be the gruffest Will’s ever heard. <br/><br/>Hilde hardly acknowledges him. She just tips up her chin and looks down on Will. “Mr. Crawford said you need to stop skipping class,” she announces and her smirk twists further. “He sent me to find you and I knew I just had to find where <em>Duncan</em> always is. Process of elimination and here you are.”<br/><br/>“Don’t tell anyone,” Duncan insists, the gruffness so stern and firm.<br/><br/>“Now, now, Duncan,” Hilde chides. “Don’t you think Vivian would like to know?” <br/><br/>“Vivian will know what she needs to.”<br/><br/>“Does it fucking matter?” Hilde says with another damning laugh. “That belly will tell everyone everything all on its own. All I’ll be doing is hurrying it along.”<br/><br/>The conversation seems to swirl around Will. The clamor in their head is only getting louder and louder – every question that has at best gone unanswered and at worst spiraled into imaginations of terrible possibilities. The breath that hitches in Will’s chest is nothing like the ones Duncan pulled from them before; there’s no serenity to be found. They can see Duncan out of the corner of their eye but won’t let themself look any closer. Reaching for Duncan will only be seen by Hilde and be made worse. <br/><br/>When the bell rings, they keep their head down as they walk by both Hilde and Duncan. They try not to think about how this means Hilde will leave also. As soon as they enter the hallway, it’s hard to think of <em>anything</em> <em>else</em>. They take their seat behind a desk and realize just then that they don’t have anything with them – no books, pencils, or paper. It doesn’t matter. They won’t hear a word of what the teacher says or even catch a glimpse of what’s written on the whiteboard. <br/><br/>All they hear are whispers and all they see are the notes being passed. One hand extends out from under a desk to take a folded little piece of paper and tucks back again to avoid getting caught. No one bothers to pass it to Will; no one ever does. When they feel eyes land on them, they can only assume the words scribbled on a wrinkled piece of notebook paper are all about them. <em>Did you hear Will is knocked up? Did you hear they couldn’t keep their legs closed? Look! There’s the belly!<br/></em><br/>Will feels aware of everything <em>too much</em>. They can feel their cheeks and the turn of their lips and the tears that gather at their eyelashes. They feel the air as it flows in and out but their chest, only <em>aching</em> and offering no relief. The desk feels too small. Any comfort that might come from being enclosed now makes them feel <em>trapped</em>. As they press their knees against each other, they feel their feet against the floor ready to run.<br/><br/>When the bell rings, they fight the urge to flee. They drag their fingernails against the top of the desk and watch their nail polish chip and flake off. Their curls hang down around their face but the flush of their blushing cheeks might as well burn through. It’s only after the last person has left that Will lets themself brace their hands against the desk surface and push themself to their feet. They’re woozy and disconnected. Each footstep doesn’t feel like their own to take. They give a thought to going towards their locker with the books and everything hidden within. It doesn’t seem to matter anymore. <br/><br/>Duncan’s standing there at their locker, but Will’s feet carry them past him and out the school’s front door. Tears drip down their cheeks and sobs claw their way from Will’s chest. Duncan doesn’t try to follow. Part of Will knows that if he’d tried and if he’d touched Will, there would be no keeping themself together anymore. Sitting in their car, blotting tears on the sleeve of Duncan’s sweatshirt, part of them also wishes Duncan would be there so their cries wouldn’t echo so loudly in their ears without a shoulder to bury them in. <br/><br/>As soon as Will’s eyes are no longer tear-filled and they can at least see the road in front of them, they turn their car on and drive. They don’t know why they’re driving away when there’s nothing else for them to drive to. The trailer hardly seems to be where safety lies…</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(the next chapter is longer)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After Will got back to the trailer, they didn’t leave again. <br/><br/>Their dad wakes up before the sun comes up and heads out for work and doesn’t come home until the sun has gone down and he’s had a few rail drinks at the dive bar with his buddies. He doesn’t really have any reason to notice that Will hasn’t gone to school. In many ways, there’s nothing different. Will still gets up after he’s left and gets dressed before he comes home to make sure it <em>looks like</em> they went somewhere…when in reality they stay home. <br/><br/>They curl up in bed and stay under the covers for as long as they can tolerate. Even in the cooling autumn, the sun manages to get hot enough in the middle of the day for them to peel the layers of blankets back to allow their skin to feel the open air. As soon as the sweat cools and dries, they cover up again. They wish they could bury themselves under the covers, sink into the mattress, and disappear from the eyes that evoke the fear and dread of the monster under the bed. <br/><br/>The home phone rings – probably school questioning why Will hasn’t shown up. The school might try calling their dad at work if they are determined to reach him. Luckily for Will, there’s no calling him when he’s out fishing. There has also been a knock or two on the door over the past couple of days, but those have gone ignored too. It could have been Duncan. Will couldn’t say. They never answered. They’re not even sure Duncan knows where exactly they live anyway. <br/><br/>Will wakes up when their dad gets up in the morning. There are the noises of cabinets opening and whirring as the water heats for the coffee pot. Will tries not to hear it as the coffee trickles. They don’t need to be getting up now. They can feel how their shirt has ridden up above their belly. They try to be as subtle as they can be when they turn over in bed and pull their shirt down under their blanket. <br/><br/>There’s tapping against their shoulder. They don’t notice it at first and then they try to pretend to not have noticed it still. They hope that whatever chore their dad wants to be done can be written on a notepad on the fridge that’s supposed to be for making grocery lists. Will doesn’t think it’s ever been used that way. Usually, it’s just used as a reminder for Will to do the dishes or the laundry. <br/><br/>The tapping on their shoulder continues until it’s a shake and Will knows there’s no plausible deniability anymore. Will turns their head and brushes the hair from their face as their eyes crack open for the day. <br/><br/>“Dad?” they say as they rub the crusty bits from the corner of their eyes with their knuckles. <br/><br/>Their dad is dressed in his usual t-shirt and cargo shorts and with a baseball cap on his head. He shaves his beard down to a goatee while the weather is still warm, but as it’s getting cooler, he’s started growing it out again. That’s the predictability that he has to offer and it’s only because there’s predictability in how the seasons change. <br/><br/>“Come on,” he says with his Louisiana accent that’s endured even as they’ve moved. Will’s accent never had time to settle in. Sometimes some of their vowels have the same length and cadence as their dad’s but only sometimes. <br/><br/>“What?” <br/><br/>Their dad pats their shoulder and then stands up straighter. “We’ve got an errand to run.”<br/><br/>Will furrows their brow and frowns as they lick across their dry lips. “I’ve got school.”<br/><br/>“Just get dressed and we’ll go.”<br/><br/>Will waits until their dad has walked away to sit up in bed and even then makes sure the blankets are bunched just right around his hips – covered enough and casual enough. When their dad goes outside to smoke and drink his coffee, Will hurries as much as they can to change their clothes. It might only be a few seconds, but the time between being under the blankets and covered by Duncan’s sweatshirt feels far, far too long. The way the smell of cigarettes drifts in more from the window than it clings to the fabric fibers also feels <em>off</em> in some way. <br/><br/>Will eats as much breakfast as they can manage as worry chokes at the back of their throat and makes every bite and swallow that much harder. When they finally go outside and join their dad on the steps, their dad drops his cigarette on the ground and doesn’t even bother to stamp it out. It will wither and peter out on its own just like the rest of the cigarette butts littered there. <br/><br/>They both climb into the truck in silence and their dad turns on the radio as soon as they’re out on the road. Classic rock songs play in between crackles of static and their dad sings along from time to time while Will stares out the window and watches the world go by. It’s surreal to consider how it feels so much like the many hours on the road moving from there to here. Last time, their dad sang this tune he was the only person Will thought they’d ever have the chance to get used to – even if what Will is used to is mostly him being gone.<br/><br/>The scenery changes. Houses get closer and closer together. They are no longer kept apart by the untamed woods and forest even though they’re driving <em>away</em> from the city. <br/><br/>Will looks at their dad and asks, “Where are we going?”<br/><br/>“We’re almost there,” he answers like he did every time Will asked <em>how much longer</em> after many, <em>many</em> hours of driving. He’d say that…and then there would be another couple of hours before they’d stop for a burger and Will could stretch their legs. <em><br/></em><br/>The song changes and it’s one of his favorites. He sings again and Will looks back to the road. The turn signal clicks and then they turn, over and over until they turn into a neighborhood of identical houses with identical, perfect lawns. People stand in their driveways chatting and kids play like some sort of idyllic wonderland. <br/><br/>“Dad?” Will asks looking towards him with a frown. “Why are we here?”<br/><br/>“We’re almost there,” he says again. And that’s it. <br/><br/>Will is left to watch as their dad turns into a driveway for a house so untouched by autumn that the few leaves that tumble over from another lawn might be the gossip for the rest of the season. There’s a woman there who is posing with a rake more than actually seeming to need to use it. She’s blonde and wears a hat to protect her fair skin from the sunlight. Her clothes are shades of light blue, the polo a little darker than the baby blue of her pants. She turns to smile and wave at them as Dad turns off the car. <br/><br/>Will looks over at their dad, both wearing clothes riddled with holes and stray threads. “Why are we here?” <br/><br/>Their dad huffs and yanks the keys from the ignition before yanking just as hard at the door handle. He casts the words over his shoulder when he says, “I’ll tell you inside.”<br/><br/>Will climbs out of the car carefully. Their fingers twitch to touch their belly or even just press against their sternum to get air to return properly to their lungs. This land of paradise doesn’t feel like anywhere Will should be.  <br/><br/>“Mr. Graham, I assume!” the woman calls out, still just big smiles. She looks at him and her teeth are so perfectly white and straight and perfectly framed by light pink lipstick. “You must be Will. You can call me Mrs. Anderson.”<br/><br/>“Should we go inside?” Dad asks, sounding even brusquer in contrast with Mrs. Anderson’s happy manners. <br/><br/>“Oh!” she says like she’s in on the joke. “Yes! Let’s go in. My husband is waiting for us.”<br/><br/>Will follows their dad and Mrs. Anderson inside even though Will can hardly feel their feet on the ground. The sun reflects brightly off the white paint on the steps and front porch, not a spot of dirt to be found. Will feels bad stepping on it when they know their boots probably still have some mud dried into the tread. They have the same feeling when they sit on the couch. The couch is the lightest gray it could be, as if politely conceding that more white wouldn’t be practical when having guests. Will’s dark jeans stand out, especially the threads that hang from the tears in them. <br/><br/>Mrs. Anderson leaves Will and their dad there just before she disappears into another room. Their dad looks just as out of place and uncomfortable as Will is. He doesn’t hide his frown, which Will would have guessed was rude and forbidden in such a house, but Mr. Anderson frowns too from his seat in a chair that looks <em>maybe</em> stylish, but <em>definitely not</em> comfortable. He’s dressed in a suit and a <em>nice</em> one at that. He has a classically handsome face in the way his wife is classically beautiful. He’d stood up to greet them and immediately sat down again when his wife whisked away. <br/><br/>“I made us some snacks,” Mrs. Anderson announces when she returns. She holds the handles on either end of a silver platter. She seems to have no problem balancing the little bowls and full glasses on top. She offers a drink first to her husband and then sets the tray on the table in front of Will. “Nice and healthy ones,” she says as she gives Will a sort of <em>look</em>.<br/><br/>“Thanks,” Will says, though they don’t reach for the bite-sized servings of various things on skewers. They just count the ways those little bites could drip and stain.  <br/><br/>“Of course!” Mrs. Anderson says as she sits in the seat near her husband. She bats a hand towards Will and smiles in a teasing sort of way. “Your health isn’t just about you anymore, you know.”<br/><br/>“Dad—” Will says, turning towards him. They don’t know what to say next and won’t get the chance anyway.<br/><br/>“You know, Will,” Mrs. Anderson continues on without a care and acting as if <em>Will</em> had been the one to interrupt <em>her</em>. “Some people come by some things very easily and others have to work very hard. We’ve been blessed with a good home and good money. Archie is a finance manager, you know? Taking care of big accounts, lots of money to consider in that line of work.” <br/><br/>Will is left staring at their dad, who just nods his head at Mrs. Anderson and doesn’t give Will even a <em>blink</em> in their direction. His cough is loud as he clears his throat enough to say, “We know.”<br/><br/>“We can buy everything a child would need ten times over, but haven’t yet been blessed with one ourselves,” Mrs. Anderson says as she lays a hand over her heart. “The cost of that hardship is nothing to sneeze at. Meanwhile, you’ve made a baby and paid nothing at all.”<br/><br/>The thrumming in Will’s veins since Dad parked the truck kicks up until their pulse pounds so hard it shakes at their hands. Their eyes feel impossibly dry, blinking over and over, but still when they open again, their dad is still just <em>sitting there</em>. “Dad—”<br/><br/>“We know it would be a sacrifice with some cost to it,” Mr. Anderson says and Will might have forgotten what his voice sounded like since last time he used it. It’s a perfectly nice voice. It’s the seriousness and callousness in his tone that make his words <em>ugly</em>. “But we’re prepared to take care of that.”<br/><br/>“No.”<br/><br/>Mrs. Anderson <em>almost</em> flinches. She hides it well in the open and close of her curled eyelashes. She blinks those eyes at Will as if hearing them for the first time. “Excuse me?”<br/><br/>“No,” Will says again, their voice wobbling. They clench their jaw and curl their hand into a tight fist to steady the shaking. “You really do have more money than sense if you think you can just <em>buy </em>a <em>baby</em>.”<br/><br/>Their dad sits upright, the most action and attention he’s shown all day. Though, he still looks between the Andersons instead of looking at Will and still just asks <em>her</em>, “Could you give me a minute?”<br/><br/>Mrs. Anderson slides her smile back into place and folds her hands in her lap. She nods her head and looks at her husband for confirmation before telling Will’s dad, “We’ll go make sure the paperwork is in order.”<br/><br/>As soon as the Andersons have left the room, their dad turns to them with <em>fury</em> in his eyes. “You’re the stupid one thinking this could go any other way,” he accuses. He doesn’t bother to lower his voice to a whisper and gives Will the understanding that while the information might be new to Will, they’re the only one. “I don’t have much, but you wouldn’t get a cent of it and then you’d start seeing what makes <em>sense</em>.”<br/><br/>Will shakes their head. “No.”<br/><br/>“When your baby doesn’t have food to eat or a place to stay?” Dad questions. “When your boyfriend abandons you and you’re on your own?”<br/><br/>Will tries not to imagine what their dad suggests, but it’s hard to resist when repetition and worry have already carved a path for those thoughts in Will’s brain. The thoughts of going hungry with a crying baby and being ashamed of themself for inflicting such a thing on a child have swirled in their head while the only thing to offer any hope for comfort has been Duncan giving his promises.<br/><br/>“Don’t talk about him,” Will says. “You don’t know anything about him.”<br/><br/>“How do you think these <em>special arrangements</em> got made?” their dad demands. His scoff is cruel. “You thought we’d ever have a reason to cross paths with <em>the Andersons</em> without <em>his</em> <em>people</em>?”<br/><br/>Will shakes their head again even as they feel woozy. “No.” <br/><br/>“You don’t have a choice,” their dad commands. He points an accusatory finger in Will’s direction and then digs it into his knee as a warning. “Your choices went away when you got yourself knocked up. You’re just signing at the bottom of the page now.”<br/><br/>Will curls their arm around their belly and feels the baby growing within – <em>their</em> baby, Will’s and Duncan’s, and <em>no one else’s</em>. They think of the day by the river when summer sunlight shone down on them together as they considered what hope might feel like if it were allowed to only feel good. They’d promised not to let anyone make them ashamed. They have to keep their promises if they expect Duncan to. <br/><br/>Tears dot their eyelashes as they shake their head this time. “You can’t make me.”<br/><br/>“You bet your ass I can.”<br/><br/>Will pushes themself off the stiff couch and it’s almost easily done. They teeter slightly and knock against the table, causing a little of the green juice in a glass to spill over the edge. It makes Will want to pour it over everything in the room that could stain. <br/><br/>Their dad grabs their forearm with the same strength he’d used to dig a divot in his knee. “What do you think you’re doing?”<br/><br/>Will looks their dad dead in the eye. “Let go of me or the Andersons will have to explain to their happy, little neighbors why they heard <em>screaming</em>.”<br/><br/>Their dad releases their arm and then clenches his hand in a fist. “Don’t you dare show your face again,” he commands. “Remember this is the best option you’ll be given. Anything that comes after it won’t be so nice.”<br/><br/>They turn with the next shake of their head. Will’s heart thuds with each step as they walk out the front door. The pulses of adrenaline keep them walking past the curious looks that follow them down the sidewalk. They walk and walk and still can’t seem to make it past a land of whites, grays, and pastels. Their black sweatshirt feels stuffy in the heat but at least the sleeves absorb a lot of tears. Those tears last longer than the adrenaline does. Turns out righteous rage is nothing in comparison to defeat. <br/><br/>Will doesn’t know how far they’ve walked, but they have a strong suspicion that they’ll have a blister or two. When their walking might seem more like limping, they’re grateful to have a door to push open. They shuffle the rest of the way to a booth way in the back of a coffee shop and fall more heavily than they would like against the poorly-cushioned seat. They grab napkins from the dispenser one after another. The thin flimsy material is soaked in no time and Will has to use so many that the underside of their nose must be rubbed pink.<br/><br/>Will looks up when one of the coffee shop employees wearing a plain brown apron with a coffee cup logo on the front walks up to their table. When the employee eyes the mound of napkins that’s growing on the table, Will awkwardly scoops them together to hide them away in their closed fist. <br/><br/>“You’re supposed to buy something if you want to sit,” the employee instructs as they drop a clean, dry cloth onto the table. <br/><br/>“Sorry,” Will says, voice thick with even more tears somehow. They try not to sniff too loudly to avoid further embarrassment, but they can feel an errant tear about to fall from their chin. “Could I just use your phone? Then I’ll get out of your hair?”<br/><br/>Will can see the pity in the employee’s eyes as they say, “Sure.”<br/><br/>The employee goes behind the counter and hands the phone over without another word. Will quickly dials the number they luckily know by memory. The phone rings a couple of times and Will fears Duncan might not answer. Their face twists to try to keep the tears at bay even though they’re struck with the bone-deep fear that if Duncan doesn’t answer, Will might <em>really</em> be on their own. <br/><br/>“Hello?” rasps Duncan’s voice on the other end of the line. <br/><br/>“<em>Duncan</em>,” they gasp in relief. <br/><br/>“Will?” <br/><br/>They sniffle and rub their nose on one of the napkins still held in their hand. “I need you to come get me.” <br/><br/>“Where are you?” Duncan asks and Will can practically hear how he frowns. <br/><br/>“I-I don’t know. Some coffee shop,” Will says. They uncrumple one of the napkins to read off what’s printed there: “Hot Java.” <br/><br/>“What’s going on?” <br/><br/>Will thinks of their dad in a suburban home with a <em>finance manager</em> and his wife who think that people – <em>an innocent baby, no less</em> – can be turned into a lump sum. Will thinks about how they themself might not be able to afford the cheapest item on the menu. They didn’t bring any of the spare cash they’d managed to scrape together. They didn’t pack their clothes. They don’t have <em>anything</em>. <br/><br/>They think of all this and the only answer they can give Duncan is a choked sob into the phone. <br/><br/>“Is the baby okay?” Duncan asks next and Will’s heart clenches at how concern softens his voice. <br/><br/>“Yeah,” Will assures him and props the phone between their ear and their shoulder so they can drop their hand to touch the swell of their belly and feel how it’s still there. Relief is what comes when they remember what they <em>haven’t lost</em>. They manage to smile slightly as they tell him, “The baby’s okay.” <br/><br/>“Okay,” Duncan says with a heavy exhale, then there’s rustling and the jingling of keys in the background. “I’ll come get you. Stay there.” <br/><br/>“Okay,” Will agrees with a sigh, exhausted yet again by a downswing in their emotions and exhausted further by the knowledge that it won’t last. “I’ll be here.” <br/><br/>When Will gives back the phone, the employee gives them a glass of water and a scone on a plate and, without a word, shoos Will back towards the same booth as before. They drink the water to make up for even a fraction of the tears they’ve shed. The scone is a little too dry and that doesn’t help, but Will would never, ever think to complain. <br/><br/>The delicate chime that sounds when Duncan charges through the door doesn’t match how askew his hair is and the frenzy in how his eyes scan the room. As soon as Duncan sees Will, it seems to take only a blink of an eye for him to cross the room. He crouches at Will’s side and brushes a thumb across their cheek.<br/><br/>“Hey,” he whispers softly.<br/><br/>“Hey,” they whisper in return. Their lips curve towards a smile as they look at their boyfriend with his cheekbones and stubble and messy hair that disappears at the nape underneath his leather jacket. Their smile falters halfway there and falls as they start to cry all over again and loop their arms around his shoulders. <br/><br/>Duncan lets them cling too tight and only rests his hands on the dip of their back and their knee. “Let’s get you home.” <br/><br/>Will’s tears drip down his neck as they gasp out the words: <em>“I can’t go home.” <br/></em><br/>His hands tighten their grip, but it’s not painful or demanding. His grip only smothers the panic from their nerves. “Let’s go to the truck,” Duncan murmurs. <br/><br/>Duncan’s stubble catches on Will’s hair as they nod. He doesn’t move to stand until Will has released him from their grip. He offers Will a helping hand and they couldn’t be more grateful to take him up on the offer. Duncan’s brow furrows when Will’s ankles sting and have them limping slightly. But Duncan knows when to save his words and he’s kind enough to keep them in until they’re closed away in his car. <br/><br/>There’s a shine to Duncan’s eyes when he looks at them. He’s careful as he rests his open hand palm-up on the center console. “I’m sorry,” he says.<br/><br/>Will takes that offered palm <em>happily</em>. “Please don’t be. I don’t want to be sorry about anything,” Will says feeling a couple more traitorous tears fall. They squeeze Duncan’s hand tight and sure. “I just need us to be somewhere we know no one else will be.” <br/><br/>Duncan’s lips twitch towards a smile and he nods. “Okay.”<br/><br/>He doesn’t let go of Will’s hand. He uses his other arm to reach into his jacket pocket and even twists himself oddly to get the key in the ignition and turn it. He goes out of his way to set them in motion and soon enough they’re out on the open road. Will leans their head on his shoulder and the sunset has the sky painted in vibrant oranges, pinks, and purples as Will allows their eyes to close…</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is might be one of my favorite chapters I've ever done...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The clouds have turned dark purple and the last sun of the day casts an orange glow in a soft and vibrant outline along the edges. Will can see it beyond the neon sign with a flickering Y. Will rubs their knuckles against their eyes and when their hands fall away, the rest of the word <em>VACANCY</em> looks less and less blurry with each blink. They roll their shoulders against an ache and there’s another ache in their neck as they shift in their seat. The door pulling away startles them until they see that Duncan’s the one on the other side.<br/>
<br/>
“Sorry,” Duncan says as he ducks his head. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”<br/>
<br/>
“It’s okay,” Will says, though their voice falters.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan ducks further to lean in and reach across Will. Their seat belt buckle unclicks easily and simply when Duncan presses the button. As the seatbelt retracts, Duncan’s hand follows it and drags a bit across Will’s belly as he goes. Will catches his hand and holds it against where their baby kicks. Will sighs as little feet or fists knock strong and steady inside Will’s belly and against Duncan’s palm.<br/>
<br/>
When Duncan moves his hand away, Will wants to snatch it back again. But they don’t. They only let their eyes linger, trailing along with Duncan’s hand past their hip, down their thigh, and under the turn of their knee.<br/>
<br/>
“Duncan,” Will interrupts when his arm reaches underneath both knees and his fingers turn and curl. “I can walk.”<br/>
<br/>
But Duncan carries on. His arms tense and his muscles bunch as he braces himself to lift them up. “Your ankles hurt,” Duncan rasps as his other hand curls around the side of Will’s ribcage too and he lifts Will from the truck without so much as groaning.<br/>
<br/>
The only help Will is allowed to offer is an arm curled around Duncan’s shoulder and leaning against his chest to help him keep balance. Duncan closes the car door on his own with the nudge of his shoulder. Luckily, the door he stops at is on the first floor so there's no need for him to conquer stairs as well.<br/>
<br/>
“Are you going to manage to unlock the door too?” Will teases when Duncan doesn’t immediately put them down.<br/>
<br/>
They can hear how Duncan’s hum is short with reluctance, but he does concede and lower Will to the ground. Their ankles sting a little as they shift on their feet and Duncan is efficient in retrieving the key from his pocket and sliding it into the lock. He pushes the door open and flicks the light on in a quick, efficient motion.<br/>
<br/>
The room is basic – as you might expect from a motel that will accept seventeen-year-olds as customers. Granted, Duncan might be mistaken for eighteen with some plausible deniability. He’s not a smooth-talker but he also doesn't give anyone any reason to question. The week’s worth of stubble makes him look rougher around the edges. And anyway, why shouldn’t they be trusted with something as basic as a bed and a bathroom?<br/>
<br/>
Will does their best not to wince as they step towards the bed and lower themself onto it. The mattress sags as they sit and their boots clunk heavily on the floor. They drag their fingers through their hair to brush the curls back from where they’d fallen in front of their eyes. When they brush their nose on the back of their hand, they’re reminded that it’s still pink and raw. Tears burn in their eyes once more and they might feel a burning in the blood that heats their belly too. Their heart sinks deeper and deeper into the cavern of their chest and they nearly collapse on themself with <em>another</em> <em>fucking sob</em>.<br/>
<br/>
They grip their hand in a fist although there are no longer any napkins to hold onto or tear apart. There shouldn’t be any tears left that haven’t been soaked into one of those flimsy napkins or into their sleeve. They feel all dried up and worn out, but it hardly seems to matter. Will can only rub at the side of their belly and watch as Duncan unties their boots enough to slip them off their feet.<br/>
 <br/>
“You’re okay,” Duncan says when he looks up at them.<br/>
<br/>
Even if Will could talk through the tears, they can’t say they fully believe him. Maybe that’s what makes it so difficult to keep the tears at bay. The dam that might stopper them can’t be realized. Will doesn’t know if they’ve truly and clearly been able to see the way forward since their feet carried them away from the Andersons’ house. They’re just going through the motions and, as the world keeps on spinning and <em>spinning</em>, Will’s not sure how to keep up. <br/>
<br/>
Will ducks their head as it spins and presses their hands against their eyes to keep out anything other than the black abyss behind their eyelids. Their shoulders fall and Duncan sits next to them on the bed. He wraps his arm around their back almost like he did when he was carrying them; the way they lean their head against his shoulder is almost the same too.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan presses his face to Will’s hair and murmurs, “You’re okay.”<br/>
<br/>
Will pulls away so that their nod won’t knock against his nose. When they open their eyes again, they see Duncan – <em>and Duncan only.</em> He doesn’t match the dull, faded, yellow paint on the walls or the yellow-tinted lighting coming from the single, bare bulb overhead. Cooler tones have always seemed to suit him best – calm, cool, and collected in his own way. There’s a <em>relief</em> Will feels whenever Duncan lends them his quiet. It's the chill in the air around solid ice and the warmth of a hat and scarf.<br/>
<br/>
Will sighs and kisses Duncan just once to drink down the calm from the source. When they pull away from just that one, singular kiss, they sigh again and can honestly say, “I am now.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan shifts closer, tightening his arm around Will and pressing a stubbly kiss to their cheekbone. “You’ll always be okay.”<br/>
<br/>
Will turns to gently knock their foreheads against each other. “Promise me again.”<br/>
<br/>
“I promise.”<br/>
<br/>
Will wrinkles their brow just a little longer. “Okay,” they say as their next smile smooths a little more of the tension away. “Then talk can be saved for later.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan doesn’t need to be told twice – barely need to be told <em>once</em> – and his lips and hands put Will at ease as he meets them for another kiss. He settles his hands so gently and so surely. When his fingers bunch in the sweatshirt Will wears, it is a question, but not a hesitant one. Duncan can be fairly confident of the answer even before Will gives a quiet moan.<br/>
<br/>
The permission is given easily, but habit still has Will nearly flinching. The air in the room is slightly cooler with autumn, but Will’s goosebumps might have just as easily come from fear. For months, open air has held the sort of suspense that builds just before a jump scare. When fabric falling to the floor and clinking of Will’s belt buckle are the only sounds to be heard – and sounds muffled and muted by the carpet at that – Will tries to remember the click and clank of both a bolt and a chain locking the door.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan leans back against the bed with Will. Now that clothes have been cast aside, there’s more for Duncan’s eyes to pour over than there has ever been before. Will might not have even have felt able to treat themself to the chance just to look and take it all in. Duncan’s fingers and eyes are equally gentle with care and curiosity as they drag across Will’s bare, exposed skin. More goosebumps rise in the wake. These ones are most <em>definitely</em> good.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s fingers spread wide as he cradles the curve. At one point, Will’s belly fit within his palm, at another point he could still hold it in the space between the tip of his middle finger and the heel of his hand. The swell is now far beyond that.<br/>
<br/>
“The baby’s bigger,” Duncan observes before pressing a kiss to Will’s neck and stroking once more along the rise with Will’s belly button at the peak and down the sloping curve at the other side.<br/>
<br/>
Will hums and exposes more of their neck to the press of Duncan’s lips and the scratch of his stubble. “Probably,” they say. It would be more teasing if not for how their breath hitches and sighs. “Babies tend to do that.”<br/>
<br/>
“I missed you.”<br/>
<br/>
The clench of Will’s heart is so sudden and so stark that they might flinch with it. Their sharp inhale comes out shakier and they gasp with another touch of Duncan’s lips to their throat. “I missed you too,” Will says with a sigh and they don’t think it’s possible anything could be more true.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan gives another broad, wide stroke across Will’s belly. “I missed both of you.”<br/>
<br/>
Will’s chest pangs again – this time with the thought that by hiding away they forced Duncan to miss out on more than they’d realized. Will and Duncan can hold the same pain in missing each other, but Will hasn’t been forced to miss their baby for a moment.<br/>
<br/>
Will's hand is less gentle as they press it over Duncan’s, but what might seem the kindest thing to do in this moment is to make up for the lost time and absence. “We’re together now,” they assure him.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s hum makes them shiver. He shifts his legs and aligns his body further along Will’s side. “We will be together for a long time,” he promises.<br/>
 <br/>
“Prove it to me,” Will whispers into the open air.<br/>
<br/>
Duncan urges Will over to their side and they easily comply with the encouragements of his touch. Duncan lays himself along Will’s back, guides Will’s knee up a bit further to press against the lowest curve of their belly, and drags his fingers back down Will’s thigh to stroke between their legs.<br/>
<br/>
“More,” Will says when just stroking isn’t enough. They can feel the shape of Duncan’s cock against their ass and the two of them have had to be satisfied with only the barest touches of fingers for <em>so long - </em>on the couch under the bleachers, in abandoned classrooms, by the stream. “Duncan, <em>more.</em>”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan makes sure nothing is painful – not now. They’ve done rough and bruised and grabbing hands and Will’s nails dragging raised pink lines in Duncan’s back and they’ll do it that way again someday. But now as Duncan anchors himself with a hand at Will’s hip, his thrusts don’t jostle Will too much and, whether he’s rough or gentle, Will moans and whimpers in almost the same way.<br/>
<br/>
Will might feel themself relax for the first time in a long time – too long for them to remember when their head is woozy with pleasure. They let Duncan rock against their body and bring them pleasure in pushes and pulls. Will and Duncan's bodies know each other as their minds do. Will shivers and whimpers in only the best ways. Duncan’s grunts brush warm air against their neck whenever his stubble isn’t prickling at it or his lips pressing affection against the sensitive skin.<br/>
<br/>
When tears next come, they’re tears of aching pleasure that grips at their core. Every shift of their fingers is felt that much more as they lift Duncan’s hand from their hip and place it back on their belly. Duncan’s hips falter and stutter in their pace as he feels along the curve and Will feels how well it all fits together – like there’s no other way it could be.<br/>
<br/>
Will cries out when pleasure overtakes them. They don’t have to muffle the sound or hide themself away. Duncan doesn’t have to give a second thought as he spills and Will is filled more than they ever have been – filled with pleasure, affection, potential, and <em>new life</em>. When they cry out, it’s not from sadness but from having Duncan there and <em>for once</em> feeling complete – not hidden away or chipped off at the shoulder, whittled or invisible. Their breaths heave and pant as they both settle back into new skin that fits differently – or at least does to Will.<br/>
<br/>
When Will and Duncan inevitably have to separate and move away, they do so reluctantly. Duncan takes his turn in the bathroom after Will does and when he comes back to bed, Will is already turned on their side and facing away towards the door. The mattress dips with the press of Duncan’s knee and Will might hear the springs squeak. Duncan sets his hand on Will’s shoulder and they grab for his fingers.<br/>
<br/>
Will forces the words that have been stuck in their throat to spill from their lips: “They wanted to sell the baby.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan’s body weight shifts smooth and quick. Will hadn’t left him much room but he fits easily in the space that remains between Will and the edge of the bed. He’s already frowning when his head hits the barest edge of a pillow. There’s a flash of worry in his eye like the shining wet of tears and then he blinks and it’s concealed behind upset or anger.<br/>
<br/>
<em>“Will,”</em> he rasps as he looks at them more head-on and straightforward than ever before.<br/>
<br/>
Will closes their eyes. Otherwise, they won’t be able to say it. To look into Duncan’s eyes as they tell him would be to see themself reflected back. They would become so acutely aware of themself and so acutely aware of how there’s nowhere to hide from the <em>feeling</em>.<br/>
<br/>
“My dad. Vivian,” they state – as good of a place to start as any. “They set it all up. A nice, <em>suburban</em> family. The baby would have a house with a front yard.”<br/>
<br/>
If they won’t face their feelings with their eyes open, then Will is forced instead to see the pretty houses and the perfect yards and the nice clothes and good food behind their closed eyes. There would be cookies to sneak from the jar in the cupboard and a constant cycle of pristine toys.<br/>
<br/>
But then there’s the thought of Mr. Anderson who would only see a child for its failure to act like a grown adult should – <em>too needy, too whiney, too curious</em>. Mrs. Anderson might believe that children should be seen and not heard. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson could stomach the idea of buying <em>a baby</em> because they’re the kind of people who prefer baby’s as a concept instead of a <em>person</em>. <br/>
<br/>
“My dad wanted me to think you knew about it,” Will says. Though they still won’t open their eyes, they’ll hold his hand. “But I knew you didn’t.”<br/>
<br/>
Duncan grips back and his voice is rough as he confirms, “I didn’t.”<br/>
<br/>
“I can’t go home. And I can’t go to your house either,” Will says with a sigh, feeling how the tension creeps back in – the worry, the responsibility, the fear of the future. “And there’s nowhere else to go.”<br/>
<br/>
“We can go wherever we want,” Duncan says like he’s said all his promises before.<br/>
<br/>
Will furrows their brow like they have before too and once again asks the question that’s been nagging at them all along: <em>“How?”</em><br/>
<br/>
“Vivian can find people who put a price on a life,” Duncan states. “Because that’s what I am to them.”<br/>
<br/>
Will’s eyes blink open. When they look at Duncan, they see how <em>his</em> brow is furrowed and how <em>he</em> frowns. And so they close their eyes again so that he might not have to feel it any more than he will already have to. Will bumps their forehead against Duncan’s and the tip of their nose against his, just so he will know Will is still there and still <em>feels</em> him even if they don’t <em>see</em> him.<br/>
<br/>
“My parents worked for Damocles. Hard work but they say that the money makes it count,” Duncan continues, saying it as deep and simple as he says most other things. “Then they died and left their money to me. Vivian gives me stipends because I’m not eighteen.”<br/>
<br/>
Of course, Will has noticed that Duncan has Vivian where he should have parents. Of course, it always seemed <em>interesting</em> that Duncan could live in that house mostly alone and never mention anything about a job or the bills. He’s promised time and time again that it would all work out and Will never knew how. They never would have guessed <em>this</em>.<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll be a millionaire on my birthday,” Duncan states. “Until then, that door is locked and bolted. And we can go somewhere else to wait and start over.”<br/>
<br/>
Will scoots in as close as they can be. Their belly presses against Duncan’s and the baby within kicks against both of them. Will breathes in the smell of smoke that always clings to Duncan. They cling to him too as the breath of air fills their lungs, into their veins, and into the blood that keeps their heart beating.<br/>
<br/>
“We can start tomorrow.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm changing how I post on this AO3 account. If you want to learn more, <a href="https://twitter.com/transcryptidone/status/1383467141387624448">click here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A big thank you to Bee for beta reading and brainstorming ideas with me and answering a million questions!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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